


Safe

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, M/M, Mission Fic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 23:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5311481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wants Bucky to feel safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe

Bucky had felt this before, but from what he remembered, it had been different. It had not been this frustrating and he had not felt this guilty. He pinned his eyes to the concrete floor of the bunker he and Steve were sharing, lodged deep in the woods, somewhere outside Seattle. The Captain was standing just across the room, pressing a series of latex wound dressings onto the plethora of scratches and cuts that littered his bare legs and torso. There was a steady flush of heat over his skin from the shower in the other room, making the chiselled contours of muscle in his back stand out in even more agonising detail. The blonde hair at the nape of his neck was still damp and clung like wet feathers to the blushing skin.

“This,” Steve grunted, turning awkwardly to reach a gash on his back, “Is why I hate shrapnel.”

Bucky nodded, still averting his gaze from the half-naked soldier in front of him. He shifted uncomfortably on the single bed his was sitting on, hyperaware if how embarrassingly and almost painfully hard he was under the stiff combat pants he was wearing.

“The temperatures going to drop pretty low tonight,” Steve sighed scrolling through his phone with a frown, “And your clothes are damp so I’d put something else on if I were you.”

Bucky, again, nodded. Steve found it hard not to be a little frustrated at how few responses he got from Bucky. He understood it fully, of course; the man was terrified. Even the slightest reminder of how his life used to be threw Bucky into uncertainty and panic, so although The Winter Soldier craved it unrelentingly, Steve’s company was quite difficult to manage sometimes.

“Tell me, Buck,” Steve sat down next to his on the bed, “What’s going on up there?”

Steve stroked a lock of loose hair behind the soldier’s ear affectionately. Bucky shivered at the contact, goose bumps rising along his jaw. One half of his brain was willing Steve to do more but the other never wanted to be touched again, wanted to collapse in on itself and resign to mission, purpose and solitude. Bucky guessed that that was the Hydra side.

“I’m just tired,” Bucky’s voice sounder unconvincing, even to himself.

Steve raised one eyebrow and took the soldier’s right hand in his cautiously. Bucky did not seem to bristle at the touch too much, so the Captain took to stroking willowy patterns over his calloused palms. They were hands that had done work, hands that had known a struggle. Even the metal one was etched with scratches and smudges that refused to buff out and the titanium fingertips were losing their perfect polish. Steve moved his fingers to Bucky’s wrist and drew circles over the pale skin. He could feel Bucky’s pulse speeding under his fingertips.

Steve always thrilled a little when Bucky allowed that much physical contact. There were days even better than that when Bucky would sit quite contently with his shoulders pressed right against Steve’s, or when they were on missions, like they were now, would be calm enough to huddle for warmth if they had to sleep rough or unsheltered. Times like that were the few reminders Steve got of the Bucky he was trying to find.

“Don’t lie to me Buck,” Steve sighed, squeezing Bucky’s hand slightly, “You’re not all that great at it.”

Bucky stood up sharply.

“I’m gonna’ take a shower,” He said quickly, picking up a towel from the barren looking table behind the camp bed, “Don’t wait up for me or anything.”  


Steve shrugged, defeated and slumped onto his bed.

“Water’ll probably be pretty cold this time of night, Bucky,” Steve warned, picking up the book beside his bed.

Bucky nodded. That was probably a good thing.

~

The mission was not a hard one. There had been reports of hostiles in the area, an underground organisation trafficking cocaine and heroin. The main concern had been over the use of explosives in their security systems. They had found the explosives (hence the shrapnel), arrested the cartel and freed two hostages being held for ransom. The mission had been a success. All they had to do now were daily sweeps of the surrounding woodland to make sure all threats had been eliminated.

The day was a cold one, and the barely there morning sunshine was dappling through the thick canopy of pine trees so weakly, it could’ve been mistaken for dusk as Steve and Bucky walked through the forest, jumping streams and scanning for anything out of place. The woods were deserted; they had not even passed hikers in the hour and a half they had been walking for.

“You know,” Steve started, his shield poised on his arm, looking out into the trees, “You never did tell me why you looked so sour last night.”

Bucky felt his muscles tense at the thought of having to explain himself.

Good feelings, especially those that directly benefitted him were a new and alien concept to Bucky. He had to take ownership of a body that had become so conditioned and used, a detached and foreign asset that was not meant for his control. Even things like choosing when he ate had taken some getting used to because the idea of having needs that he was actually going to take care of was bizarre.

“It’s nothing important, Steve,” Bucky muttered, “Focus on the mission.”  


Bucky felt a bubble of frustration rise in his chest, displaying as a reddening in his cheeks, as it always did. Steve frowned at the sudden unfriendliness in Bucky’s tone.

“Why do you hide so much from me?” Steve asked flatly.

There was an air of seriousness in the Captain’s voice. It came from hurt, not from hostility, but it bristled Bucky’s defensiveness regardless.

“Why not?” Bucky stopped sharply, digging his heels into the ground.

There was anxiety dripping off of his body. He looked ready to fight, but Steve knew that look. It was breakable and raw, a bravado. His voice trembled around his words despite the effort to keep them steady. If Steve had taken one more step forward, the soldier wouldn’t have fought, he would have flinched.

“Come on, Bucky!” Steve threw his hands up in exasperation, “What have you ever said to me that I’ve judged?”

Bucky scowled and walked ahead of Steve.

“Seriously, Buck,” Steve pulled him round by the arm, but dropped him like he was on fire when he realised his intrusion.

“I’m sorry…I,” Steve stepped back, seeing Bucky’s face change to one he did not recognise.

Bucky broke.

He grabbed Steve’s shoulders and pulled him forwards roughly, the shield falling to the ground with a dull thud of metal on damp earth and the pair’s lips crashed together.

Steve pulled Bucky’s waist closer to his, relaxing when he realised the soldier’s intentions. He carded his hand through Bucky’s hair, pressing his lips apart gently to deepen the kiss. Bucky was not being gentle. He ignored the dull ache of Bucky’s metal fingers gripping his shoulder and pulled him even closer. The Captain closed his eyes and levelled his breathing, and for a brief moment, they were back in Brooklyn a lifetime ago. Steve pulled Bucky’s hips to his briskly, hearing him gasp headily at the friction.

Bucky’s movements did a U-turn, from pulling closer to pushing away. Steve stepped back, flushed with arousal. He could see his breath in rapid puffs in the cold air.

“Bucky...” It was all he could manage as he watched the man in front of him.

Bucky stood, stock still. His chest was rising and falling thickly. His cheeks were red with heat and cold and were streaked with tears.

“It’s alright, Buck.”

Bucky shook his head breaking into a sprint in the direction of their bunker. Steve reached out but let his hands fall dejectedly to his sides as the dart of black and silver disappeared into the trees. Steve gave him a moment so that he didn’t feel like he was being chased before jogging after him, still replaying the kiss over and over in his head.

~

Bucky hurtled back into the bunker, trying to block out the hammering of his pulse in his ears. He slammed the door and fell onto the bed, delivering punch after punch into the mattress. He stopped when he heard the frame creak in protest and lay there, spent with his head buried in his pillow. His breathing was shaky.

He regretted it. He should not have even thought about it, let alone be stupid enough to deliver. It was not fair on Steve. He deserved better than Bucky, someone steady and stable, who did not seem to make everything they touched burn to the ground. He deserved a good man.

He heard the sound of Steve walk in and the feeling of the mattress shifting as he sat on the edge of it.

“Hey,” Steve’s voice was a comforting whisper.

Bucky didn’t move. Steve paused for a while, taking a breath before putting his hand flat on Bucky’s back.

“You’re allowed to feel, Buck,” Steve continued, stroking up and down the line of Bucky’s spine, “You’re allowed to let go.”

Bucky sat up and looked at Steve. Last time he had let go with Steve, he had beaten him half to death and they had ended up in the Potomac. But then there was that _need._ It would not shift, that uncomfortable but blissful tightening in Bucky’s stomach every time the Captain touched him.

“Go ahead, Stevie,” Bucky breathed, his palms breaking into a sweat.

Steve took Bucky’s face in one hand and his waist in the other, pulling him closer and pressing his lips to his gently, sucking the bottom one into his mouth. Bucky shoved down his anxiety and turned it to passion, running his hands through blond hair and arching his hips into Steve’s.

“See?” Steve mumbled against Bucky’s lips between kisses, “You’re okay.”

Bucky hummed a reply, shivering as Steve’s hands grazed his hips and slid under his t-shirt and up his back. Bucky’s crotch tightened uncomfortably as kisses turned into gentle, grazing bites across his neck, rushed and heated. He put a hand on the back of Steve’s head, holding his lips were they currently were, sucking bruises under Bucky’s ear.

Steve pulled Bucky onto his lap, knees either side of Steve’s thighs. He grazed a flat, firm palm over the noticeable bulge at Bucky’s hip, earning a low, needy moan.

“You want me to?” Steve looked up at Bucky, hands poised at the fly of his combat pants.

The soldier hesitated, taking a shaky breath before nodding and closing his eyes. Steve pushed Bucky’s trousers and boxes to his knees, moaning quietly in the back of his throat at the sight of how hard Bucky was. He nudged Bucky back off of his lap, gesturing for him to lie back on the bed before taking his shaft in one hand and shuffling his own shirt off with the other.

He started to rub his hand up and down, squeezing against a throbbing pulse and smiling as he heard Bucky’s breathing hitch. He leant forward, pulling Bucky’s shirt over his head before wasting no time in kissing across his bare chest. He let his lips linger at the thick seam of scarring where flesh became metal. It was comfortably cool against his forehead and the metal hand twisting through his hair had a strange, raw power behind it that made Steve sweat.

He sped his hand up and grinned against skin, feeling his teeth clink against the titanium as Bucky moaned, a long, desperate and climbing sound that was full of longing and restraint. Steve vowed to pull that restraint apart if it took him all night.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve tempted, “Fall apart for me, I know you need to.”

Bucky pressed his hips into Steve’s hand. He was feeling far too much and nowhere near enough all at the same time. He pulled Steve’s head forward again, inviting more cool-lipped kisses over his chest. He heard Steve unzip his own jeans and kick them off the bed, his belt clinking dully against the cold concrete floor. He pulled Steve on top of him. The Captain stopped moving his hand and nuzzled into his neck breathlessly.

“Tell me what you need,” Steve panted, kissing the hot skin at Buck’s temple, nudging loose hair away with his nose.

His voice was rough in a way that only showed when he was like this. Bucky loved it.

 _You, I just need you,_ Bucky thought, pulling Steve’s hips against his, but the indecisiveness and inhibition stopped his hands in their tracks.

“You choose,” Bucky said quietly against Steve’s shoulder, “I can’t choose things, you choose.”

Steve looked at Bucky for a moment, testing the waters and evaluating the soldier’s face thoroughly as best he could with arousal clouding his head.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, and I mean it,” Steve ordered sliding Bucky’s hips towards his.

He leaned backwards to the table at the end of the bed, pulled out a travel pot of lube from the drawer and covered his fingers liberally before parting Bucky’s thighs gently. He ran his fingers over his entrance, feeling the soldiers heels tighten on his hips at the delicate stimulation. Steve pressed harder and Bucky relaxed. Bucky seemed to respond to firmer touch and rougher handling better. Steve knew why and it hurt, but right now, whatever worked was good.

He pressed his fingers into Bucky, hitting resistance and tension. He circled them, barely thrusting to loosen the tight rings of muscle around his knuckles. He turned his hand so the pads of his fingers were facing up and started to hook them towards him, slow, firm and perfectly angled.

“M’ not gonna break, Stevie,” Bucky groaned, pressing his hips up into the motions, his toes curling inward and his voice getting pitchy.

The sound of his old pet name made something warm and tight flurry in Steve’s stomach. He sped up the hooking movement and grinned to himself as Bucky’s panting breaths turned to keening moans that sounded so out of practice and husky, but so familiar all at the same time.

“Please, _Steve,”_ Bucky pulled Steve closed with the backs of his ankles; an invitation.

Steve took more of the lube, sliding his fingers out of Bucky and hearing him gasp at the emptiness. He slicked some over his shaft before positioning both hand on Bucky’s thighs.

“Ready?” Steve asked.

Bucky swallowed hard as he nodded, casting the anxiety in his head as far back as it would go.

Steve pushed in gently, putting his hand on Bucky’s chest to steady the breaths that were coming in fast gasps.

He pulled back, then pushed forward again, smiling as Bucky’s back arched off of the camp bed at the pressure. He repeated the action again and again, pulling their hips into a perfect rhythm that was making every hair on Steve’s body stand on end like he’d been hit by lightning.

The Captain leant forwards so that their bodies lay together flush, so that he could kiss the soldier beneath him enough times to make up for what they had missed.

Bucky’s voice was a muffled string of moans and profanities against Steve’s shoulder, punctuated by the jarring of harder and harder thrusts that were making the camp bed knock against the wall rhythmically.

“I’m gonna’ go, Steve,” Bucky’s fingers tightened against Steve’s shoulder’s painfully.

Steve pressed his lips against the brunet’s as he fell headlong into climax, pulling the Captain with him in a rush of shared moans and heat.

“ _Jesus,”_ Bucky gasped, thighs shaking as he came down, letting his hands slide limply down the damp skin of Steve’s back and fall against the mattress.

Steve breathed a tired laugh and let his forehead lull into the dark, soft space between Bucky’s neck and shoulder.

This was what safe felt like.

 

 


End file.
